Resting by the Fire
by sanctum-c
Summary: Aeris reached the next bonfire to find someone already there...


The man by the bonfire- Well, if nothing else, a figure of something approaching a man's shape sat beside the bonfire. More arms than she might have expected but fewer than the worst kinds of Hollows. He was all that remained between her and blessed (if temporary) salvation. Stoke the endless flickering fire and link her lingering embers to this flame too. Assuming the stranger did not strike her down first.

He whistled, labouring on something, the bulk of his body obscuring his hands. Could she creep by? Ignite the flame and run the risk of him striking her? If fast enough she would at least come back here and not a mile or two down the road with all obstacles and enemies before her once more. Wherever here was in relation to there- The endless cycle of death, rebirth, of liquid fire and burning embers, of a world familiar and alien took its toll on her mental geography. How long ago was the last bonfire?

The fire. It still smouldered, not reduced down to ash. He was not hostile. Or at least he did not seem hostile. Or the bonfire did not consider him such. Other creatures, other figures, charred and damaged, or armoured – all Hollow - choked the heat out of the essential sources of warmth when near. This fire, while subdued as the others did when she happened upon them, still burned. She could do this. Unless this was another trick? An exception to the rules, of what passed the governing structure of this world. So much unstated, conjectured from stray observations and curious malformed comments from the few other residents of the world capable of speech and coherence – and not hostile.

The figure moved and her heart skipped a beat. He held up a wide sword, the blade nicked, tarnished and rusted. Two circular holes high near the hilt. A familiar weapon. His weapon. Aeris clambered up onto the plateau, loose stones clattering as she moved. The figure move languidly, unhurried, a glance over his shoulder and re-focused on his task.

Aeris grasped her staff in both hands and shuffled forward, tensed. He could still attack; use her for an easy kill. Some in this world there was a sadistic pleasure in cutting down anything they found. Left or right-handed? Should she duck left or right when he moved? Practice and tireless repetition leant her more skill with her weapon than she ever had cause to develop in Midgar, but it was never enough for the next encounter - not truly. Always some amount of luck, a frantic strike, a-

"Stop hovering and rest." The figure held the sword up again, shifting the blade this way and that. Studying the edge. "I am not Hollow." He glanced over his shoulder. "And by the looks of things missy, neither are you." He narrowed his eyes. "Closer than is comfortable however." Another arm moved and delved into a pocket, a glowing ember tossed from a calloused hand to land beside her feet.

How long since her last? Too long to count – tempting to save this, but- Aeris snatched it up and pressed it against her chest, the chill dissipating. "Thank you." Her voice felt strained, quiet from lack of use. The figure nodded and returned his focus to the sword. Aeris circled the fire, still unwilling to trust him and kept the flames between them.

The man worked at the Buster Sword's blade, hewing the edge to new sharpness. Far from this only weapon; a whole array lay beside him. Curious oddities amongst them; an etched blade with a the grip of a handgun; a straight sword with a jewel encrusted hilt- A chill swept through her despite the flames. A long, narrow, curved blade; it looked- No. "Where did you get that?" She pointed to his work in progress.

The man glanced at her and back down to the Buster Sword. "Found it."

"Where?"

"Near the ruins of a great city. Terrible state in which to leave something so powerful." His hand tightened on the hilt. "Mine now; I've been searching for this one for a long time."

"Searching for it? Wait, how long have you been looking for it? How long since you did?" Aeris still could not relax.

"Gilgamesh is unsure." He scratched his head with a spare hand. "Time is all confused these days. Like places- But I saw this once when it was shiny and new – in the hands of another. Not sure why he left it behind, but…" He grinned. "Wanted it then, got it now."

"The owner." Aeris settled on the opposite side of the fire, keeping her gaze from the Buster Sword or the thin blade. "Do you have any idea where he is?"

Gilgamesh shook his head. "Would have fought him if I knew. Could have won the sword. Regretted passing up my opportunity before." He cocked his head to one side. "Reckon he must have left it there. A tribute maybe?" He glanced between her and the sword. "So. You knew the owner?"

"He had blonde hair and blue eyes. And secrets – a world of secrets. But that was…" Aeris waved her hand. "Like you said; time is confused these days. But I remember it – and him."

Gilgamesh studied the blade, peering closer at the edge. A sigh. "I may not have the skill to repair this. But I know of one who might-" He stared towards the sky. " A long way, but-" He looked at her again. "I will seek them. Unless you wish to fight me for this one?"

Another fight. And one she might win – eventually of course; success built atop a succession of failures. Might. Might not. No; not did not seek – had not sought - the Buster Sword. She shook her head. "I would think he would prefer to see it used."

Gilgamesh nodded slowly. "Then I will take my leave." He plucked each of the swords from the ground, sliding them into a harness of sheaths he slung over one shoulder. The thin blade – no, the Masamune – remained on the ground. Gilgamesh hefted the Buster Sword in his right hand. "You gave me information freely. I will not forget this." He tossed something towards Aeris. Angular and emitting a white glow. Faintly warm to the touch. "In case you need my help; you may call for my aid."

Aeris clutched the soapstone. "Thank you." An ally for the struggles ahead.

Gilgamesh glanced at the Masamune. "Take this if you wish; too many to carry now. Not a favourite." He lifted the Buster Sword. "I have this now." He grinned at her and reached out to the flames; his body crumbled into ash. The Masamune remained. She waited; Gilgamesh did not return to the fire.

The sword was heavy; heavier than expected. Ridiculously long. A blade that had touched her blood, touched Tifa's, her father's, Zack's, Cloud's, Tseng's, President Shinra's- and who knew how many others. A strange certainty: this blade had touched Jenova's blood too. A curious significance. But like the Buster Sword, somehow separated from the owner by some twist of time and space. How had Gilgamesh come by this blade too?

No matter, the Masamune was now hers, though she knew little of sword-fighting. But like anything else in this limbo, the skill and strength to wield the weapon would come over time and repeated usage. She would learn how to use the sword.


End file.
